Blue Sky Tomorrows

by L. J. Hachmeister

  Cam watched as Jahx flipped through the last several battles Shiggla both witnessed and participated in during class.

  “Wait,” Cam said as Jahx came to the battle between Walli and Teahvo. He watched as the two older kids went head-to-head in the match he witnessed. But from the angle of the game she chose, and the way she zoomed in on certain game pieces and the scoreboard, he suspected something more than just interest in how the players strategized. “Show me the others matches again.”

  As Jahx flipped through some of the matches, he saw the pattern. “She studies the players’ strategies, but she’s more concerned about the scoreboard,” he observed. “She checks back to it every fifteen seconds.”

  “Right,” Jahx said, freezing the holographic projection the image of point totals after one of the matches. “She doesn’t just want to win…”

  “...She wants to win with the most points possible,” Cam deduced. “She plans her game around point totals.”

  But as Jahx clicked off the desk, Cam realized his next question. “Why do you care? You’re just tying all your matches. What’s your angle?”

  Jahx smiled. “Maybe if you watch my footage…”

  Cam shook his head. “I saw you; you just watch the players. You don’t manipulate the camera angles on your desk. The footage is garbage.”

  With the same smile on his face, Jahx shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’m not that good of a player.”

  “Maybe you’re better than everyone, but you just don’t want to get found out. Not yet.”

  Smile faltering, he diverted his gaze to the door.

  “You’re a strange one, Fiorahian,” Cam said, checking his sleeve. Time to get back to the arena. He’d have to figure out the study questions after his training session. “But I don’t hold anything against you. None of these kids know what real war is like.”

  As he turned to leave, a meek voice arose in song:

  “Little launnie in the gutter,

  No one loves a rat,

  Your momma’s smoking jihja

  And your daddy’s getting whacked.

  He slowed his pace as Jahx recited the Fiorahian slum-song, chills running down his spine.

  Little launnie in the gutter,

  Broke and full of woe,

  Float downstream away from me

  To the Block where you will show.

  Four and twelve you might have gotten

  If your face was not so rotten,

  Hurry up and die already

  So this all can be forgotten.”

  I’ve never heard anything like that… he thought, horrified by the compassionless tune. How could anyone survive a world like that?

  The answer stirred deep within his chest, in the feeling of the red scarf in his hands, the sound of a snapping spine.

  Almost to the door, Cam turned enough to talk over his shoulder, clearing his airway to make sure he didn’t sound jolted. “Like I said, Fiorahian, I don’t judge you. We all do what we have to do for our own needs.”

  “What’s your need, Cam?”

  Cam paused at the door, his heart in his throat. “See you, Jahx.”

  “See you, Cam.”

  ***

  As Cam checked and holstered his gun, the regular few cadets trickled in to the morning open training session. Most kids, exhausted by the previous day of classes, chose to study, get an extra hour of rest, or hit the gaming rooms to blow off steam—not physical training.

  Not these bastards, he thought. Vorri, Wexlen, Sanders, Criele. All older cadets in impressive shape, especially for their age. He didn’t remember twelve-year-olds with such massive muscle development like Wexlen, or speed like Sanders – at least not Cerkans.

  Not any kid, he realized, thinking of all the intergalactic species he’d encountered in the city.

  He wished he could talk to them, but he feared more than a perfunctory acknowledgement and an occasional nod during cooperative training. And besides, with the way the Academy shuffled cadets around, they’d be gone in a month or two anyway.

  I hope this isn’t another massive attack, he thought, massaging his sore arms and stretching his back. The idea of a fourth day of an endless barrage of enemy soldiers sounded impossible, especially since he still had to resolve his study question dilemma after training.

  “Cam.”

  He turned toward the entrance. “Tomia—Iggie—”

  Jetta, Jahx’s more outspoken sister, trailed behind the two. He’d seen her in the hallways, but only with her brother and sister, never alone. What’s she doing here?

  As he thought to ask them where they’d been, his eyes fell to the training guns strapped to their thighs, and their unblemished training uniforms. “You guys are training now?”

  “Iggie and I registered for next session,” Tomia said. “Thought we’d check it out.”

  “And you?” he said, addressing Jetta.

  The Fiorahian girl gave him a slanted once-over. “It’s an open session, isn’t it?”

  Cam shrugged his shoulders, seeing their lighted sleeves. “Hope you’re all warmed up.”

  “Any advice?” Tomia asked, touching her holster. “I’ve never fired a gun before.”

  “Me neither,” Iggie said.

  Jetta stayed silent, watching the other three.

  Cam scoffed. “Come on, you think I got any training?”

  “Seriously?” Iggie said, eyeing the playing field. The arena spanned at least half a kilometer, with highly sensitized interface modules and holographic projectors lining the ceiling grid in ten-meter intervals.

  Cam drew his weapon and showed them the basics. “Point, aim, fire. Don’t hold your breath when you hit the trigger.”

  “How much ammo is in here?” Iggie asked, flipping over her gun and inspecting the design.

  “You get twelve shots. Reload by tapping the gun to your holster. You all have your ear pieces in?”

  “Yeah,” they each mumbled, touching their ears.

  “Good. Stay on your com. It’s easy to get divided in a sim.”

  “What’s this?” Iggie ran her finger along the reflective stripe on her holster.

  Cam pointed to the hashes. “Your player interface. It allows the teachers to turn off your gun or whatever, registers your ID.”

  “What… what happens when you get shot?” Tomia asked.

  “It hurts.”

  “What?” Iggie said. “Why’d they do that?”

  “To make it real, I guess,” Cam said, pointing to the silver nodes tracking the length of the arms, legs, chest, and back on his uniform. “These send pain signals to wherever you get hit.”

  “What about the part that’s not covered?” Tomia said, referring to their hands and head.

  Cam turned up his head to show them the neckline, and then offered up the ends of his sleeves. Silver bands and node clusters wrapped around the edges of the uniform. “Signals get sent out to your hands, paralyzing them, if you get hit there. And your face… you don’t want to know.”

  Iggie and Tomia looked frightened, but Jetta dared to ask. “Tell us.”

  “You go blind, mute, deaf. Just depends on where you get hit.”

  “How long does it last?”

  Cam shrugged, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as it made him feel. “It wears off after the game is over. Sucks if it happens straight out. But I guess there are some perks.”

  “Like what?” Iggie guffawed. “You don’t hear when you’re about to get blasted?”

  “If you’re blinded, you’re as good as dead.”

  “But you’re not dead,” Jetta interjected.

  “No. But the enemy doesn’t come after you. You’re considered a downed target.”

  Jetta took the information with interest, inspecting her gear as the other two eyed the exit.

  “How’d you figure all this out?” Tomia asked.

  Cam felt his sleeve buzz. Turning over his arm, he saw the yellow ready light and game instructions: ALL PLAYERS MUST PASS
THROUGH ENEMY PORTAL.

  “Godich,” Cam muttered. Passing through an enemy portal meant crossing the battlefield lines, usually into a trap. Sneaking one player through to the other side could be managed with experienced players – but all eight of them?

  Cam clustered together with the other four players as they awaited the simulation to unfold. Tomia, Iggie, and Jetta followed him, mimicking his crouch.

  “What the hell?” Sanders exclaimed as he scrolled through the sim stats on his sleeve. “Why does this count toward 50% of our training sim grade?”

  “What?!” the others exclaimed, all checking their sleeves. At least for the other students, open training sessions were treated as practice sessions, not counting toward any grade.

  “But we haven’t even officially started—” Tomia exclaimed, checking her readout.

  Cam brought up his cumulative training session grade. As it stood, he would pass, and with a good battle sim rating. But not if they failed to complete this assignment.

  Panic threaded through his heart, quickening his breath, tensing his muscles. Rogman. He turned to the observation window, the last strange session, Jahx’s dead body, on the edge of his mind. Why are you doing this?

  “This isn’t fair,” Wexlen said, looking to the exit.

  Criele grabbed Iggie by the arm. “Did you rubs do this?”

  Wrenching herself free, Iggie got in his face. “I didn’t have nothing to do with this.”

  “Quiet,” Cam said, watching the simulation unfold. A dark, mountainous region, with two outposts and a foreboding stronghold materialized in front of them. From a quick visual sweep, Cam guessed they’d have to cut across half a kilometer of enemy territory to reach the circular blue portal on the other end. At least it’s dark, he thought, glancing at the pale stars stretching out along the horizon. The enemy won’t be able to see us very well.

  Addressing Tomia, but speaking loud enough for all to hear, he said, “you asked how I figured out all this training gorsh-shit?” He slid up his training uniform sleeves, revealing his old battle wounds, and new. The other cadets, except for Jetta, gasped and murmured. The Fiorahian met his gaze, undeterred by his display. Cam paused, his stomach knotting. She’s just a little girl.

  Rolling his sleeves back down, he punched up his 4.85/5.0 rating. “Because I had to.”

  Their sleeves turned green. The exit, and all other signs of the Academy, disappeared.

  Taking a slow breath, Cam reassessed their situation. The simulation placed them behind the protection of a boulder, out of the enemy line of sight. But given his past experiences, they couldn’t stay there for long.

  Vorri stuck her head out from behind the boulder for more than a second, drawing an enemy shot. The blaster fire took a chunk out of the boulder, spraying them with rocks bits.

  “Careful,” Wexlan said, pulling her back.

  “What did you see?” Cam asked.

  “A dozen soldiers positioned near the first outpost,” she said in her thick Hexronian accent. “Can’t see much else.”

  “We’re pinned down,” Sanders said, rubbing his forehead with his gun. “Someone’s going to have to make a break.”

  “And what, get iced from the start?” Criele said.

  The arguments continued, but only between the other six. Cam stayed out of it, as did Jetta.

  “We can’t do this.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  “No way we can get past all those soldiers with these rubs.”

  “Hey! Watch your mouth,” Iggie said, shoving Sanders.

  Shots fired, chunks of boulder sprayed over them.

  “Chak, we can’t stay here,” Vorri said.

  As the older cadets discussed formations and strategies, Cam thought about the game objective.

  How do we get all eight across the playing field?

  Jetta’s actions caught his attention. The young girl picked at the reflective strip on the holster, her brow in a stitch, then relaxing.

  “You guys want to win this?”

  The conversation stopped. All eyes turned to the Fiorahian girl unstrapping her holster and tossing it in the middle of their group. Then, more surprisingly, she offered her gun to Vorri.

  “Tomia, Iggie – give your guns to the others. Cam, you too. There’s only one way we can do this.”

  “What?” Sanders laughed as another blast took out a sizeable portion of their cover. “You suicidal, rat?”

  “No. I want to win,” she said.

  Cam crouched down lower as the blasts continued, increasing in frequency. We’ve got to make a decision. Now.

  “What’s your plan?” Tomia asked.

  “Each player is identified by the interface on the holster strip. All we need to do is have one player carry the holsters through the portal and we win.”

  “Why do we have to give up our guns?” Iggie asked.

  “We can’t fire as well as these guys can,” Jetta explained, “and we can fool the enemy into thinking there’s two of us in one spot when there’s really just one.”

  “Why make Cam gives his up?” Tomia said.

  Jetta locked eyes with Cam. “Because he doesn’t need a gun to take an enemy down.”

  How did you…? Cam swallowed hard, fists flexing, trying to keep from thinking of Colin.

  “What kind of dumb assino plan is that?” Criele said.

  “A brilliant one,” Tomia whispered.

  Cam silently agreed. How did you see that? he wondered, impressed and ashamed at the same time. Jetta, at only five or six years old, and no training, figured it out before any of them could.

  “So, who’s going to make that suicidal run?” Wexlan asked, firing a quick shot around the boulder.

  “Someone who’s not afraid to get hit,” Jetta said, glancing again at Cam.

  The rest of the group fell silent.

  But as Cam tried to process what she suggested, Tomia volunteered herself. “I’ll do it.”

  “Wait—she hasn’t told us how,” Iggie said.

  Jetta lowered her voice. “We’ll blind you. Then we’ll guide you through the terrain on the coms. If what Cam says is true, the enemy won’t care about you, and you can reach the portal without drawing attention.”

  Tomia looked to Cam. He nodded absently, still shocked that she would volunteer for such a task. It involved more trust than he’d be willing to give any other soldier, especially older cadets who didn’t care for street kids, even ones with good rankings or brilliant, though unorthodox, strategies.

  “You’ll need a strong assault to off-balance their forces, draw their sight away from the valleys so you can cut through to the scree field.”

  How did you see all that? Cam wondered. The Fiorahian girl must have an eidetic memory to have such a detailed picture of their training simulation.

  “We’d need a good position to be able to guide her,” Iggie said. “We’d have to take over one of the outposts.”

  “Right. Wexlan, Criele, Sanders, and Vorri, take the extra guns and attack the second outpost. Firing the extra guns, they’ll think it’s our entire squad, so they’ll draw from the first outpost. Cam will lead Iggie and me in the attack against the first outpost. From there, the three of us will guide you from that vantage point.”

  “It’ll have to be fast; they’ll wisen up quickly,” Vorri said.

  “Chak. Does anyone have a better plan?” Wexlan remarked.

  Shouts from the enemy soldiers, and another series of blasts, answered.

  “Ok,” Tomia said, shaking out her hands.

  A blast tore off a huge chunk of the boulder, hitting Sanders on the shoulder. He screamed, clutching his shoulder.

  “We’ve got to do this now. Come on,” Cam said, pulling Sanders out of the debris and tossing his holster in the middle. “Now!”

  The others hurriedly removed their holsters and handed them to Tomia. After tying them together and slinging them over her shoulder, she approached Cam.

  “You do it,”
she said, cerulean eyes tearing as she handed him her gun.

  No, he thought, taking her gun in his opposite hand. He couldn’t look at her, not with her trust gathered in her gaze, in the lingering touch of her hand on his forearm.

  But he had to. He had to win at any cost. He couldn’t think about the consequences of his action, only the victory that Jetta assured them. As the others called out for help, trying to return fire as the enemy neared, he raised his gun to her face.

  “Hurry up, Ferros!”

  “Come on, we’re getting killed out here.”

  I’m sorry. His insides screamed and protested, his hands shaking as his first finger tapped the trigger.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  Kara, I—

  “Just hold out, my love…”

  He fired, the light flash from his training gun hitting her in the face.

  “Chak!” Tomia stumbled backward, hands over her eyes.

  “Tomi!” Iggie said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to safety before she stepped out of their shelter and into enemy fire. “I got you. Jeez, Cam.”

  She told me to! Swallowing his anger, he gave up both guns to Wexlan and Sanders.

  “Don’t hesitate at the outpost, or we’re all chakked,” Wexlan said, punching Cam in the shoulder.

  With Wexlan in the lead, the four older kids kept low the ground, staying behind the craggy rocks jutting up from the uneven terrain. Sanders, nursing his injury, brought up the rear.

  “Tomia, can you hear me on the com?” Jetta said, touching her earpiece.

  “Yes,” Tomia said, eyes wide and unseeing as she crouched low to the ground, afraid to move.

  “Hold Iggie’s hand. She’ll guide you down to the valley before we go up to the outpost.”

  Whispering assurances in her ear, Iggie took Tomia’s hand in hers and led her around the boulder, and down the steep slope leading to the valley.

  Alone with Jetta, Cam watched the progress of the armed four. Wexlan, Vorri, and Criele kept up on the fire, but Sanders, injured and lagging behind, attacked sporadically.

  “There’s still two left up in the first outpost,” Jetta said, noting the black-armored enemy soldiers concentrating fire on Sanders’ position.